


Blacklight

by Nanoochka



Series: Mating Games challenge fills [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Nogitsune!Stiles, Possession, dubcon, possibly disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanoochka/pseuds/Nanoochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say sex with yourself is always sex with someone you love, except for when it isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blacklight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Mating Games Challenge](http://mating-games.livejournal.com) (#4, "Light vs. Dark").
> 
> Please heed the warnings in the tags.

Lightning is the glide of the nogitsune’s fingers through his hair; lightning is the taste of its fingers in his mouth, pressing against his tongue. It’s the sound of its laugh in Stiles’s ear, the bite of its teeth upon his shoulder, the sting of an invisible knife against his throat.

Stiles isn’t scared because the fear’s been bled out of him. He’s not angry because his anger’s all used up. He’s not anything, really, except tired and impatient, reckless and burning up from the inside. Less thrilled about that last one, but the nogitsune’s been playing him like a fiddle for hours, taunting him with that wicked smile Stiles shouldn’t know so well but does, familiar slender fingers pushing all the right buttons, lighting him up brighter than Fourth of July fireworks.

“Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying yourself,” the nogitsune says lowly, voice amused, and it tightens its grip around Stiles’s hair so it can jerk his head back at a sharper angle, making his neck scream in protest.

With its fingers his mouth, Stiles can only groan helplessly, inarticulately, and try to pull away. But even with only one hand keeping Stiles’s wrists trapped behind his back, he can’t get free, can’t stop the nogitsune from sliding its spit-slick touch down the bare, goosebumped flesh of his chest and stomach, trailing lower, lower, until its fingers and thumb are wrapped around the aching length of him.

“That’s a good boy,” it says approvingly but with such an undeniable note of mockery that Stiles forces out a huffed “Fuck you,” now that he can talk. Even as he bucks into the touch, lets the sharp upward cant of his hips ask for more, his mouth refuses to say what his body is saying, acknowledge what his mind already acknowledged a long time ago, that there’s no use pretending he isn’t already caught hook, line, and sinker.

The slow up-down stroke of the nogitsune’s hand--Stiles’s hand, there’s no telling the difference--sends sparks shooting through his veins. A moment later when the nogitsune pushes him down, shoves Stiles backward onto the bed and slithers down his body, his thighs actually shake with sick anticipation.

He wants to turn himself inside out as the impossible wet heat of the nogitsune’s mouth wraps around the head of his cock, and Stiles arches so hard his body bows right up off the mattress. He claws at his bedsheets, pulls at them hard enough to tear them to ribbons, but maybe sheets don’t rip in dreams; maybe that only happens to people, to weak teenage boys who can’t say no to a pair of clever brown eyes and a soft, willing mouth, even if that mouth belongs to someone who looks just like him and destroys everything it could possibly touch, everything within reach.

Stiles knows, from personal experience, that’s quite a lot. In daylight it’s hard to imagine how dark the night can get, but it reaches into all the little corners, finds every nook and cranny. There’s no secret part of him left; everything’s in the shadows now.

“C’mon, please,” he begs, thinking he means “stop,” but both he and the nogitsune know better. They’re both liars, in their own way, and Stiles can’t forget he was the one who opened the first door and beckoned the darkness in. When he frees one of his hands and finds the top of the nogitsune’s head of messy brown hair, his fingers only tighten to hold on, not push away. He fucks up into that willing mouth until he can’t remember wanting anything else, until he loses the last bright parts of him.

The sun went down a long time ago, is the thing--slipped right on past the horizon while Stiles wasn’t looking. He just opened his eyes and discovered night had come. It’d been impossible to find his own two hands in the darkness, at first, but given enough time, he can adjust to just about anything. Given enough time, he almost forgets he can’t see at all.


End file.
